


Fyrstr

by adarbitrium



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adarbitrium/pseuds/adarbitrium
Summary: Eivor couldn’t have ever imagined the way Randvi makes her feel right now with a simple touch of skin against skin. She feels dizzy, like the first time Hytham took her across the river and told her to jump off a cliff and just havefaith. Flushed, heart pounding, but more grounded than she had ever thought she could be, perfectly present in the moment with this woman.OR;Eivor tells Randvi she feels the same way and the scene doesn't end there.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 222





	Fyrstr

**Author's Note:**

> Fyrstr: First.

This electricity has always been there between them, however unspoken, since the moment they first locked eyes many long winters ago. Over time, Eivor mastered the art of hiding her feelings not just from herself, but naturally, from everyone else, and especially from Randvi. But instead of fading like Eivor had hoped they would for so long, they only grew more steadfast and resolute. She blamed it on the time they had spent together… the time they spent together when Sigurd was away on raids, the time that had forged an unbreakable bond between them. Surely it was their deep _friendship_ that made her feel attached to her. She refused to acknowledge the possibility that those heavy moments when it was just the two of them, sitting alone by the docks at night, or those stolen moments of privacy—or dare she say, intimacy—in the dark corners of the longhouse were what made this hurt. In fact, Eivor very much wanted to deny that it hurt at all.

But it did hurt. It does hurt. And she hates feeling weak, but it hurts. It hurts knowing that she wants to resist and it hurts knowing that Randvi is so perfect for her in every way except for the very fact that she’s _her brother’s wife_ , by Thor’s hammer.

On cold and lonely nights or when she was wandering far away from home, and after the shame and guilt had subsided, Eivor had often imagined what it would be like to have her. How could she not when the woman was all smoldering glances and teasing smirks. So it’s only reasonable that the thought had crossed her mind on more occasions than she wants to admit. Wondering how her skin would feel underneath her fingertips and what sounds she would make. What would it feel like to be held by her, alone in a dim room? What would it feel like to be touched and caressed by her? She knew her hands were not nearly as calloused as hers were. A certain kind of heat always spread over her chest as she _imagined_. Was she an attentive lover? Eivor would close her eyes and picture her lips. Would they feel soft against hers? Firm? She imagined the way her tongue would feel, tentative but brave, pressing against her. She imagined tangling her fingers through her blazing red hair, undoing the braids. She had always imagined the kisses would be hungry, the touches desperate. There was nothing she wanted to hear more in the world than the sounds she would make when she kissed the places she wasn’t even allowed to touch.

When she realized she had whimpered from the fantasy, she would open her eyes. Some nights, a tear would slide down her cheek as she realized that she would never know.

* * *

Before Eivor can make some stupid comment about the morality of the situation, Randvi captures her lips once more, focusing her attention on the hungry kiss. And Eivor lets herself feel her desire, her want, her need to touch every inch of Randvi’s body and claim it all as her own. Randvi’s body slams into hers. Their lips meet and Eivor can’t think of anything but how she tastes of honey-mead and blackberries and how much this is a _terrible idea_. Her thoughts are interrupted by Randvi’s mouth leaving hers and making its way to the side of her neck. Eivor leans forward as she pushes her up against the weathered walls of the ruins and speaks with lips and tongue what words can’t accomplish on their own.

Her heart starts to pound, her breath going impossibly shallow while her fingers fumble with stupid, tiny metal clasps and she’s struck with an awful pang of urgency. The process goes slowly, slower than she can stand.

Eivor’s mesmerized, it seems, unable to move, watching as Randvi steps back and sheds each garment and weapon as if they were on fire, burning her skin, instead of being completely soaked. She shrugs off her cloak, the fox fur falling to the ground with a soft thud, followed by the clank of metal clasps, then the shrill clonk of her belt and axe. She’s standing before her in all her naked glory, soft breasts, nipples stiff from attention and light wind. Creamy light skin curving through slopes and valleys, dotted with freckles here and there. Finally, she steps out of her boots before closing the slight distance between them. Eivor knows she must see the hesitancy in her eyes as she takes her hand and puts it on her chest, over the beating heart that thumps even faster than her own. Eivor takes a quick indrawn breath.

Randvi’s fingers reach out and she starts to fumble with the latches of Eivor’s chestplate until her armor joins the discarded clothing piling around their feet. The Wolf-Kissed moves then, snapping out of her reverie and completely focused on the woman in front of her. She pulls Randvi closer again, cherishing her warmth pressed against her own, only the unwelcome fabric of her underarmor between them. She pulls the last article of clothing over her head in a swift whisper, drops it to the ground and shivers as the warm autumn breeze caresses her naked skin. Randvi kisses along her jawline, then down her throat as she puts her arms around the blonde’s neck, hoisting herself up as she kisses the scar spreading across the back of it before returning to her ear.

“Promise me, Eivor,” Randvi says, voice shaky and barely above a whisper. Despite Randvi’s heat, despite her own craving, Eivor can feel her eyes getting wet. She quickly ducks her head so that Randvi won’t be able to see. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst in her chest and she can’t recall there ever being a time when she felt this vulnerable since—Randvi reaches out and tips up her chin, forcing her to look at her. “Promise me you won’t regret it. I could not live with that.”

But Eivor _does_ regret; regrets the circumstances, regrets that her will is not strong enough to resist, regrets that Valka’s prophecy of betrayal will be fulfilled. If Eivor were a better person, perhaps she’s stick to her resolve, pull away, pretend this never happened and keep her distance _._ As it is, heat’s licking through her and she finally has confirmation that those lingering glances and soft smiles weren’t just _friends_ and so she cracks.

“I could never, _ever_ regret you,” she breathes into Randvi’s skin, right before opening her mouth and sinking her teeth into the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, not deep enough to leave a mark. The redhead moans into her ear, long and drawn out. The responding surge in her own body is instantaneous, leaving her feeling as thought the cold stone had disappeared from underneath them and she’s floating high above the ground.

Eivor couldn’t have ever imagined the way Randvi makes her feel right now with a simple touch of skin against skin. She feels dizzy, like the first time Hytham took her across the river and told her to jump off a cliff and just have _faith_. Flushed, heart pounding, but more grounded than she had ever thought she could be, perfectly present in the moment with this woman. She forces down the pang of pain in her chest. Randvi deserves so much more than she had gotten. And she deserves more than what Eivor could give her. But regardless, she would give her all that she could. She trains her eye’s on Randvi’s face as her hand drifts between her legs. She whimpers and calls out her name as she breaks apart and it’s a victory as sweet as any on the battlefield.

She lifts one of Randvi’s thighs up and wraps it around her hip, then attacks the soft skin of her chest and she can’t help the noises that come out of her mouth as Randvi grips the back of her shoulders and sinks her nails into the tattooed flesh. Eivor shifts her so that she’s holding her up with one hand, the other tracing up her thigh to pick up her wetness, sliding between her legs and teasing at her entrance once more. Her body, heart and soul melting against the feel of Randvi as she brings her fingers up and then there is a pause. A wait. A question. A confirmation. 

Randvi tries to bounce her hips downwards to meet her fingers as Eivor dips them further and presses one past her entrance, delighting in the groan it pulls from Randvi’s throat. She’s wet, so wet there’s almost no friction at all as Eivor moves inside of her. She curls her finger and tugs against her, tracing the ridges inside of her as Randvi lets out a loud sound that isn’t quite a moan. A yelp, perhaps. She answers with a squeeze of her thighs and the buck of her hips. Eivor doesn’t want anyone to ever have her the way she does now. She wants to be the only to know her skin, know her secret places and her very soul. She feels emotion swell up in her chest again, eyes dangerously close to tearing up as she sucks in a breath when the pure intimacy of the situation crashes down on her.

If fate only grants them one night, she’s going to be greedy. _She's mine. Just for tonight she's mine. No gods or fate will take her away._

She presses a second finger into her, keeping up with the tight rhythm the other woman’s hips dictate. Randvi whispers _more_ , her hands are skintight around the back of Eivor’s neck as she holds her impossibly close, free hand splayed across the base of her spine. But Eivor wants to be _closer_. With her fingers buried deep inside, she watches red brows crease and quiver in pleasure, bright blue eyes hidden as she screws them shut. She looks on, utterly and completely enthralled by the sight of Randvi biting her lip, the way she lets out a moan between each thrust. Eivor keep on murmuring encouragement and praises as she feels her barrel closer and closer to the edge. A silent laugh escapes her when their lips meet, devolving into a moan.

“Fuck,” she hisses, pleasure mingling with pain as Randvi’s teeth sink into the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder. It’s all she can do to cling to her as she presses her harder against the wall. A reaction to the needy whines falling from her lips, or perhaps to the way her wrist is getting tired.

She feels Randvi writhe against her as she covers her body with her own, she feels too close now, almost beyond control, she wants to kiss her so badly in that moment... The face she makes as she comes is comparable to a spark of lighting in the skies after Thor tightens his grip around Mjolnir. Her eyes are half lidded, cheeks flushed redder than her hair. Eivor stares back, feels heat and molten want cascade through her limbs. Seeing her come, her responsiveness, her receptivity has her so taken with her... she never loved anyone the way she loves her. Gods, she _loves_ her.

She kisses her then. The words dying on her lips as she forces them back down. She can't let her know that. Not with words, not yet. She kisses her for a second, a minute, an eternity, hands sliding up to thread through those disheveled, tempting locks of hers, pulling her in. Eivor’s perfectly lost in their connection and not wanting to part until the need for oxygen starts burning at her lungs and so she breaks apart just slightly.

And then Randvi flips them and her back hits the stone wall.

Randvi is inside her. Randvi is kissing her, her weight pushing up against her, pinning her in place. Everything around her is Randvi. There’s nothing else. Eivor’s world is reduced to the points at which they are connected. She is only sensation now. The heat in her belly, the static over her skin, the ache between her legs. All she can do is groan and grind her hips upward, setting them at the perfect angle for Randvi to go deeper. The myriad of fantasies that she had of this very moment pale in comparison to the reality.

Her breath catches in her throat, hips lifting and she keens, sound reverberating. “Gods,” the sound is gravel, more a gasp than a word. With a shudder, she exhales and throws her head back. Randvi’s breath is hot against her neck, but then it’s gone. She opens her eyes and peers down at her with a confused look.

“You are beautiful,” The breathless praise rings and echoes in Eivor’s ear.

 _Beautiful_ was not a word people used often to describe her any more than they have used it to describe a bolt of lightning or a snowstorm on a winter night. She is all lean muscle and her skin is littered with scars, old and new. She was _mighty_ , she was _fierce_ and _imposing_ , but never _beautiful_. Randvi runs her free hand over her, possessing and claiming. “Beautiful,” she mutters again, reaffirming.

Eivor is feeling so much, _everything is so much_. Her whole body feels electrified and she doesn’t know how much longer she can bear it. Her body starts to tremble as Randvi hits a spot inside her that sends a spark of pure, hot pleasure racing through her while rubbing with her thumb gently, in time with her thrusts. The intensity frightens Eivor as she feels her muscles clench, riding the edge between pleasure and pain, so close… So close…

But then Randvi stops.

She kisses her way down, tracing toward the part of Eivor that only a few had tasted before. She feels nervousness tingle its way to her cheeks and makes her bite down on her lower lip. As if she’s learning the runes on her body, Randvi is painting over them with her tongue and speaking them back to her as she would a prayer. Eivor wants to shut her eyes, but the hands clasping the sharp juts of her hipbones keep her grounded. This battle, this want… so new and startling that she grows unrulier by the moment. There is a tap on her thigh, a call for attention. Eivor dips her head down, sees red locks in disarray and soft lips sucking on sensitive skin. She catches icy blue eyes, aflame with arousal and piercing want as Randvi lowers that perfect mouth and savors her.

The light caresses make her hips jolt in pleasure as her body craves for more. More of Randvi, more of her mouth and her tongue and her teeth. It’s all so new, overwhelming an all-consuming that Eivor feels herself spiraling out of control. Scrapes her nails against the cold stone behind her and rocks her hips into her lover’s mouth. _Lover_. The word rings in her mind, deafening.

Randvi’s on her _knees_ for her. She commits the sight to memory, the way she worships her. Randvi’s mouth becomes her new favorite thing. She never knew this kind of pleasure could exist, that her scar-riddled skin and tense, battle-forged muscles could feel such softness, could reach such heights. She lets out an unabashed cry, letting the roar of the waterfall beneath them swallow it and she feels a responding sentiment in the way Randvi’s fingers squeeze her hips.

She feels like she’s drowning, feels helpless and stuttering as her hips clench with every caress. She _thinks_ she’s begging, but isn’t sure whether the words actually leave her mouth or not. She would feel shame if it wasn’t for the growl leaving her lover’s lip and _that tongue_.

“Let go, Eivor.”

Randvi’s words are enough to tip her over, pulling a wail right out of her. She coaxes Eivor gently through her climax as she seizes and shudders and everything goes dark for a few moments. She keens as she comes, feeling years of pent up tension leaving her shoulders, if only for a few glorious moments. Eivor feels absolutely, completely and utterly spent. She shuts her eyes for a moment, still trying to catch her breath, to come back to Midgard from whatever realm Randvi sent her to. She still can barely process what happened, even with Randvi crawling back up her body to kiss her messily. Even with Randvi curling around her, laying a protective palm flat on her belly and the smell of sex still hanging in the open air.

* * *

She doesn’t want to look away from the intense expression on her face, from the deep, cloudy blue of her eyes, she wants to have her again, to taste her again, to make her moan out her name like she does all wild and beautiful. This time when they kiss, their cloaks spread out under them and limbs intertwined, it feels softer, easier, not nearly as desperate and wanton. But it still has the same passion and fire, only manifesting in a different way, the warm press of now familiar lips against each other.

She wants to savor this moments, the way she wants to savor every moment with her. She tightens her arm around her, pressing herself closer. Tonight, she doesn’t have to imagine what it might be like to have Randvi to herself. What it might be like to come home to her. To wiggle into her arms and tangle their limbs together. To kiss her deeply, tongue slicking hot wet hunger into her mouth until they’re both breathless and aching and they have to pull apart before the sheer yearning consumes them from the inside out.

Now that her breathing is gradually evening out, Eivor feels exhaustion tugging her in. The drag into it is pleasant, she only hopes she can have the same dream, because surely this must have been a dream. Part of her wants to stay awake and bask in the afterglow until morning—Morning. What a vile word. Night should last forever so they could explore every single inch of the other. But she has to continue on her fated path. The Wolf-Kissed must march on to Oxenefordscire. The Table-Maiden must return to folding maps. And to being her husband’s wife.

It will be a kind of death, not of the body, but of her very being.

**Author's Note:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Y'all know that feel when you should be writing your thesis but instead you're writing smut? I do.
> 
> PS, mild spoiler, but I cannot believe we get to see titties in the brothel during the Rollo questline, but Ubisoft is still incapable of including actual love scenes for the main characters.
> 
> PPS, I will pay 200 silver to any modder who replaces Randvi's in-game hair with the concept art hair. We were robbed.


End file.
